Flyers Christmas Fic 5/6

[kjameson.livejournal.com]

TITLE: "A Flyers Christmas", Part 5/6
BY: kjameson 
TEAM(S): Philadelphia Flyers
PAIRING(S): There are several pairings in this story, as well as introducing two new pairings and one possible pairing that will later develop.
RATING: NC-17 (like it would be anything else)
DISCLAIMER: The following story is a complete work of fiction, and while we all wish it was true, it's really not. Written for entertainment purposes only and not being used to make money or offend anyone. Please don't sue, thanks.
WARNING: There are lots of warnings in this story. Pretty much the usual. Nothing unexpected to happen...I think.
SUMMARY: Mike Richards throws a Christmas party for his teammates, as well as a couple former Flyers, on Christmas Eve.  Unfortunately, things don't turn out the way he planned it.
CREDIT: Good conversation and brain picking with tinydancermags.  She helped me think of a lot of ideas and expand on ones I already had. We pretty much lived this story for that past month. Thanks, I owe you big time, because this probably would have sucked without you :)
AUTHOR'S NOTES: So I figured out it's gonna take 6 parts to post this whole thing, so here's part 5 and then part 6 will be posted tomorrow.  I know when it comes to Joff a lot of people may not be satisfied with this part, but I promise this story doesn't really end after part 6 (even tho I will say it does lol). Anyway. This is pretty long. ENJOY! *Edited by the wonderful tinydancermags 

 

The pie was served, mounds of apples and cherries and even crumbs from the crust disappearing quickly.  Joff had refused every piece of pie Mike put before him, even the huge piece of cherry, with the melting cool whip dripping off the sides, and although he was tempted, he still said no. His throat was itchy, scratchy, hoarse, and Joff needed a drink.  He found a bottle of Jack Daniels, his good ol’ pal, and after wrestling to get it open two shots found their way down his throat within seconds.

 The burning, the stinging, all hit him hard and he hissed, closed his eyes, briefly forgetting about the look on Scottie’s face. It was the smirk, the glare in his eyes, the way his hands played with the sheet so close to Lasse, so close that Joff could see the heat radiating between them.  He knew Scottie was drunk, knew that he pushed Scottie away only to force the man to find another lap to stick in his head in. Joff wanted to hate himself more than he hated Scottie, but couldn’t, so he took another shot, and another, until half the bottle was gone and he could no longer feel the liquid slipping down his throat.

 

 Out in the living room, things were starting to settle down from the last round of food to only be stirred up again when a very drunken Scott Hartnell bumped into Scottie. The third line winger staggered a bit, catching his balance, as he clutched to the railing of the stairs.  Scottie had been coming down the stairs, taking the final step to land his foot on the floor, when Hartnell walked by and lost his balance.

 The two shared a look, Scottie’s eyes still glowing from his post-orgasmic high, and Hartnell’s eyes casting a mean, drunken, annoyed look right at Scottie.

 “What the fuck, Harts?” Scottie brushed off the bump, a not so simple task for him, but was to be tempted again when he was shoved, that time on purpose.

 “You still have a problem with me? Still got that issue riding up your ass, Ups?”

 Scottie knew exactly what Hartnell was talking about. In yesterday’s game, the last home game before their long road trip, Hartnell had made a bad play that was obvious to anyone who was looking. Scottie, having been finding himself sitting on the bench a lot when the second line was out, saw the mistake. He had shrugged it off, even when it caused the opposing team to score, but when Hartnell blamed the play on Joff, it was suddenly war between the two.

 Mike Richards broke up the fight then, Joff dragged Scottie out of the locker room, and a couple others went to settle down Hartnell.  Now, outside of the rink and in Mike’s own home, the captain found himself once again looking to break up their fight.

 “You fuckin’ blamed it on Joff. Everyone could plainly see it was you!”

”Fuck you! He made the fuckin’ pass!  Don’t stand there and tell me – “ Hartnell was in Scottie’s face now, fist clenching, the alcohol mixing as they stood too close to each other. 

 “Go ahead, Hartsy, throw a punch at me. Or would you rather throw a fuckin’ glove!”

 Hartnell’s nostrils flared, and he threw the first punch, fist connecting with nothing as Scottie ducked out of the way. Scottie stumbled backwards, feet slipping from under him, as his hands were flailing to catch something to hold on to.  Hartnell advanced again, hand flying high into the air, but when he attempted to hit Scottie again, Mike decided that was enough and tried to stop it.

 A couple minutes later, the captain was seated with a tissue held to his nose, again, trying to stop a bloody nose.

 “Why is everyone hitting me…” Mike whined, pinching the tissue harder and closing his eyes, head falling back before Jeff could say anything.  He let out a frustrated sigh, which only got bigger once he heard the bickering start up again. “Ok! That’s it!” Screw the bloody nose!  Mike was on his feet in the living room, standing in the middle of everything. “I think it’s about fuckin’ time that we start ending this party. Harts – I think you should leave, now.”

 “What the fuck? He started it.” Hartnell’s accent was thick, a childlike manner displaying on his face as he stated the old saying.

 “I don’t care! Please, I’m glad you came, but that’s enough.”

 Behind Hartnell, holding a beer close to his lips, Asham snickered as he shook his head in disbelief.  “You should know better, Hartsy, not to mess with one of Richie’s boy toys.”

 The captain’s somewhat calm demeanor turned sour and he glared at the winger. “You can leave now, too, Ash.”

 Asham rolled his eyes and walked towards Hartnell. “Let’s go. I’ll call the cab.” He grabbed his teammate by the arm, who started protesting the idea, and the two walked outside.  Mike watched them go, closing the door behind them, and turned to everyone else.  He brought a hand up to his nose and sniffled, attempting to bring back any of the liquid that forced the memory of what just happened. Mike accepted a clean tissue from Jeff, who stayed standing at his side.

 “You okay?” Jeff asked, sipping casually at his beer.  In return he got a glare from Mike, who shoulders seemed to slump a little lower than usual.  He watched a dark façade cast over his face, wondering what was running through his lover’s mind. It was the confusion on what he should do with Scottie. Joff wasn’t in sight, and as the winger was crawling away from the scene, heading into the kitchen, Mike was lost as whether he should kick him out now or let him stay till Joff was ready to leave.

 “I’m gonna go help call cabs, see everyone gets on their way.” Jeff pressed a soft, quick kiss to Mike’s right cheek, and with a smile left his side. He disappeared into the crowd of people and Mike was left to stand on his own, still holding the tissue in his hand.

 As everyone started to leave, gifts in tow, Mike nodded, smiled, grabbed a couple beer bottles and said his goodbyes. He wished everyone a Merry Christmas, a genuine feeling from deep inside, and watched them go. One of the last to leave, Marty stopped in his tracks and brought Mike into a hug.  He was holding the Santa coat in one hand and the hat in other. Mike had wanted to ask how he got the hat back, but just let it go.

 “I had fun.”

 Mike laughed, “Sure you did.”

 “Really.”  Marty had a huge smile on his face when he pulled back from the hug, eyes sparkling with joy.  Mike knew that joy was from Danny, and he knew he would probably regret this, but the alcohol was bugging him to say something about what happened earlier.

 “Uh, Marty, there’s something I gotta tell you about.  You see,” Mike paused, cleared his throat, “earlier tonight, before I served dinner, Niitty and Danny were under the mistletoe and well – “

 Marty’s face fell, eyes going dark and gloomy.  Mike held his hands up, almost as if in defense and went on to correct what the goalie was thinking.  “No, you see, Niitty was trying to kiss Danny, ok? But Danny said no, and was pushing him away. Danny didn’t want it.”

 “Oh.” Marty’s lips tugged a little, a smile almost forming. “He’s so loyal to me. I love him so much.”

 “I know, Marty, I know. And he loves you just as much, which is why I’m telling you this. I don’t know if Niitty will remember what he did; he seemed pretty drunk, but Danny was completely sober and he’ll probably say something to you about it later. I just wanted to mention something first so you know absolutely he’s not at fault.”

 Marty nodded his head, the smile now forming completely. “Thank you, Richie.” They hugged one more time and then Danny was there, at Marty’s side, coat in his hand.

 “Okay, so despite the little crappy stuff here and there, it was a fun party.”

 “Thanks. You guys have a Merry Christmas. We’ll see ya in a few days.” He watched the couple go, climbing into Marty’s car and driving away, probably holding hands.  A warm, familiar hand was on his shoulder and Mike turned, closing the door.  It was Jeff.

“Everyone is gone, except for Joff and Scottie.”

 “Oh.” Mike had wanted to ask about Lasse, that maybe he was still in his bed and undressed and most likely passed out. But Mike bit his tongue, knowing Jeff couldn’t know what happened, and that it was going to be interesting trying to explain why they should burn their sheets.

 

 The bathroom door opened and Joff came staggering out, wiping the back of his hand over his mouth, a dry, pale look on his face.  He made a disgusted look and wiped his hand on his pants, brushing away the taste and feel of what he just did.  Jeff looked concerned but left the comforting up to his better half.

 “I’ll be in the kitchen.”

 Mike nodded, eyes on Joff, as he watched the winger slip down on to the couch, head falling back and eyes shutting quickly.

 “Hey.” The captain sat down close to Joff and put an arm around him.  The smell of Jack Daniels hit him as Joff buried his face in his chest, tears slowly seeping through his shirt.  “Joff, what’s wrong?”

 A hiccup, a sniffle, and Joff brought his head up, wiping away tears with his shirtsleeves.  “N-nothing, I’m f-fine.”

 “Yeah, okay. Like I believe that one.”  He brought Joff closer to him, a reassuring hug to let his friend know it was okay to tell him.

 “I just don’t know why I’m acting like this. I should be used to Scottie sleeping with others.  I mean, I sleep with others, too, it’s just…”

 “You’ve never caught him before?” Mike didn’t so much ask but state it, as he already knew that’s what was bugging the young winger. “Listen, I’m just as shocked as you that it happened. But it’s Christmas Eve, and Scottie got drunk, and tomorrow morning he won’t even remember, so if you think this will ruin your Christmas, you are wrong.”

 Joff nodded his head, wiping his face dry of all tears. He believed Mike, of course, his captain and best friend wouldn’t lie to him, but he also knew Scottie better then Mike did and Scottie didn’t necessarily forget things too easily.

The pair was broken up by a very concerned, yet pissed off Jeff, standing in the doorway to kitchen. The mistletoe was still up, and had Jeff not looked like he was ready to kill someone, Mike would have run over there and attacked him with kisses.

 “We’ve got a problem.”  Jeff walked back into the kitchen, Mike and Joff soon following.

 “What’s the – OH.” Three pairs of eyes were glued to the figure, more so passed out then sleeping, underneath the dining room table. His legs were intertwined with the legs of a couple of chairs, and the rest of his body was sprawled out, head resting on the bare wooden floor.

 “Looks like the alcohol finally got the best of Scottie.”

 “I already called the cab,” Jeff started, taking a brief glance towards Joff. “Now we just need to figure out how we are gonna get him into it.”

 “We could wake him up.”

 “No, bad idea. He’ll probably be sick and then he’ll never leave.”

 “How about we carry him?”

 “Are you fuckin’ crazy? We can’t pick him up!”

 “Okay, he’s like what, a little under two hundred? If we both grab a section we could easily carry him to the cab.”

 “Okay, fine, but what happens when they get home – will Joff have to lug him into the condo on his own?”

 “Good point. But either way, he’s still passed out under our dining room table, and considering how much alcohol he consumed tonight, he’ll probably be there till noon tomorrow.”

 “Oh, god.”

”Listen, let’s just carry him out to the cab. I’ve got a neighbor who can help me when I get home.”

 “Are you sure?”

”I’ve got no choice here. It’s either that, or he stays here.”

 Pause.

 “Okay, yeah, let’s get him out from under the table and we’ll figure out how to carry him.”

 There was a lot of grunting and cursing, more so from Jeff than from other two, and finally, about ten minutes later, the three of them were carrying Scottie down the small driveway up to the waiting cab.  Joff, who held onto Scottie under his arms, head resting on his torso, slid a little on a small patch of ice and felt Scottie move in his arms.

 “Whoa…” When Joff caught his balance, ignoring a raised eyebrow from Mike, who had Scottie by the feet, he watched as the passed out winger slowly became conscious.

 “ – the fuck?” Scottie rubbed at his eyes and squinted up at Joff. “Oh, hi Joffers, you look funny with no helmet on.”

 Joff sighed and shook his head. “Jeez, thanks Scottie.”  He adjusted his hold on his friend and they continued down the driveway. Jeff suddenly appeared over Scottie, his hand on the handle to the cab.

 “Oh, he’s awake. Think he can stand on his feet?” He looked down at Scottie.  “Can you stand on your own two feet, for once? Maybe?”

 Scottie cocked his head to the side and smiled up at Jeff. “You have a very comfortable bed.”

 “Uh, what the fuck?” He looked at Mike, who shrugged his shoulders. He looked at Joff, who shrugged his shoulders, too, and then finally settled back down to look at Scottie. “What’s that supposed to mean, Ups?”

 Joff knew he would say it. Like earlier when talking to Mike, didn’t matter how drunk Scottie was, he never forgot.

His attempt at covering up was well worth the effort Joff put into it. ”Oh, Jeff, he’s drunk. I’m sure it’s – “

 “You’re gonna need to change your sheets, Cartsy…It got pretty messy…”

 Joff’s mouth was still wide open when Scottie interrupted him and a glare was suddenly cast in his direction.

 “You’ve got to be kidding me!”  Sadly enough, Jeff knew immediately was Scottie was talking about.

 Mike sighed and wished a hole would open up and suck in him. This wasn’t going to be pretty.

 “Fuck you, Upshall. Merry Fuckin’ Christmas!” And with that, Jeff walked up the driveway and slammed the door shut. Mike was pretty sure he didn’t hear it lock, but he could never tell half the time.

 “I’m sorry…”

”Not your fault.”

 They got Scottie into the cab with no struggle and buckled in. Joff shut the door before the winger could say anything and turned to look at Mike. “Want me to say something to him?”

”No, I can handle this.  I’ll talk to him, let it all cool over by morning.”

 “Okay.” In the following minutes, as the snow started to fall again, Mike and Joff hugged goodbye, with Scottie watching them as his face was pressed against the car window.  They didn’t see the faces he was making at them.

 “Merry Christmas, Richie.”

 “Merry Christmas, Joff.”

 Richie watched the cab drive away, the outline of their heads disappearing down the road.  He took one last deep breath in and let it out slowly, enjoying the cool air in his lungs, the feeling of the snow falling on his face, and then it was time to go in and face Jeff.

 He still wasn’t sure why he thought it was a good idea to throw a Christmas party.